Sojourn's End
by pyrrhicvictoly
Summary: As her father's daughter, Greta cannot ignore injustice.


"Yuuri."

"Hmm?" The king looks up from his document, quill suspended above half-formed signature. He frowns, slightly, as he realizes that his daughter's expression is distant and troubled. "Greta… Wh- aah!"

Ink splatters over the document, and his already illegible handwriting is further obscured by a wet black puddle over the third character. Greta giggles at his blush, and at the way he attempts to mop up the mess with his sleeve. "Would you like a handkerchief?"

"No, no… That's white, and my uniform is black, so I figured no one would notice this way. Er… You won't tell Gwendal, will you?"

"'Course not! Your secret's safe with me!"

Crisis averted, he sags back into the cushioned chair with a sigh. There's a prickling at his temples, however – a tightening of the muscles around his eyes – that signals an impending headache. It's something that he picked up from Gwendal over the years. Funny, that. Yuuri understands all too well about the frowning and the wrinkles. It makes so much sense when one takes responsibility seriously.

He straightens up just in time to hear Greta speak.

"Yuuri, I've thought about it," she says. He struggles to hold back an outburst, fingers whitening under the pressure as he grips the edge of the desk.

At his nod, she continues to speak, all the while wringing her hands helplessly. "I'd love to stay here with you, but… You saw, didn't you? The people are starving, and my uncle does _nothing_! The other nobles only care about their own political squabbles! They don't care about distributing water to the poor, and they don't care about justice! They're behind nearly every other country when it comes to civil rights! They're sentencing people to death for petty theft! They treat women like property! They—"

"It's okay."

Wrapped up in her father's embrace, it's like she's a little girl again, and everything is all right. Sometime during her speech, he had gotten up, but she missed it due to being so consumed with rage. But that doesn't matter now. She feels warm and safe and loved as she sobs into his neck. He lets her choke and sputter and let out great, heaving cries. He lets her break down and stop being a princess.

Out in the public eye, she is Princess Greta, the poised and elegant heir to the throne of both Shin Makoku and Svelera. But here, she can be daddy's little girl; she can weep until her eyes are red and her face is blotchy, and Yuuri will still love her.

"I'm proud of you, Greta. I'm so proud of you."

* * *

Greta remembers her mother's face again. It greets her every morning as she combs her wavy hair before the vanity. She hums her mother's song, and the dark-skinned Sveleran woman in the mirror hums along with her. She gives the woman a little dimpled smile, and the woman smiles back.

Nicola had told her once, while she was helping out with baby Ernesta, that the melody she thought of as her mother's song was actually an old Sveleran lullaby. The song and the tattoos across her shoulders are all she has left of her heritage.

This is where Greta and the woman in the mirror part ways, because Greta's home is Shin Makoku, not Svelera. Brilliant green forests and rolling fields have sprung up over the deserts of her youth. She struggles to even get a glimpse of the sand underneath, but just when she thinks she's dug it up, saltwater surges forth to cover the entire landscape. And the sand… is a sun-drenched beach on beautiful seaside Karbelnikoff province. She can't find the desert in her heart at all.

Between Greta and the woman in the mirror, there's only room for one. Someday, she thinks, they'll have to accept one other. It will take some time, but today is as good as any to start. She's as ready as she'll ever be, and even though Greta isn't being accompanied by an entire regiment of Bielefelt soldiers, as Wolfram tried to suggest, she'll carry Shin Makoku with her.

It's in the small pouch of her favorite animal cookies, her worn baseball glove that doesn't quite fit anymore, the abstract "family portrait" in her locket, and the full set of children's books featuring the adventures of Poison Lady Anissina, Fanatical Maryoku Researcher and Feminist Superheroine. It's in every stitch of the little Maou doll she knitted years ago; it shines out from its tiny button eyes. Shin Makoku fits perfectly in her luggage.

Everything is packed, and the carriage is waiting. The morning passes by in a blur. She hardly registers the food on her tongue at breakfast, nor does she remember writing one last letter to Beatrice. _Dearest Beatrice_, she had written, though the exact contents thereafter were something of a mystery even to herself. All Greta remembers is _"I miss you,"_ and _"Let us meet again once I have settled in"_.

Someone has hit "fast forward", as Yuuri would say. Greta isn't able to keep up with some of the things her father says, even after all this time, but his expressions are still fun to use. So, someone presses "fast forward" until she gets outside. When things clear up, she has one foot in the carriage and her lungs are burning from the tightest hug she's ever had.

Once Yuuri lets go, he starts biting his lip and shifting uncomfortably. "Will you be safe there? I know your cousins are after the throne, too, and…"

"And they can't have it!"

Yuuri chuckles. "That's my girl," he whispers.

"Stop suffocating her, you wimp!"

Yuuri turns around to shout back, "Shut up, Wolf! You're ruining our father-daughter bonding time!"

"She's grown up! She needs space, not your soppy, incessant clinging!"

"I'm not the one who wanted to send the whole army after her!"

"That was different!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was—"

They stop bickering when they notice the tears in her eyes, and the shaking of her shoulders. The irony of the situation doesn't escape her. Score one for Mazoku aging! Her fathers are less mature than her now, and she doesn't know if she should feel uneasy about that, or comforted that they'll never change.

She settles for laughing instead.


End file.
